#i think it's finally starting to sink in that i

[rafesangelita]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | PROLOGUE

a pogue!sweetheart!reader series by rafesangelita ©

SUMMARY: nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the handsome kook that came crashing into your life.. quite literally. it’s hard to think that at one point you and rafe didn’t know one another, especially since you two have spent every passing day together for the last four months.

WARNINGS: drug use, driving under the influence, reckless driving, rafe arguing with ward, descriptions of a mild injury, mentions of addiction and sobriety, blood, reader tends to rafe’s wounds, fluff, opposite of slowburn, forced proximity (?), time skip (from four months ago to the current day), slight angst

AUTHOR’S NOTE: ahhhhh!! it’s finally here, and i couldn’t be more excited to share this with all of you!! all feedback is deeply appreciated <3 feel free to ask to be added to the taglist if you’d like!

LINKS: series masterlist | next chapter

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

rafe set a new record for himself tonight, and he wasn’t proud of it. not only did he lose count of the lines he snorted off of topper’s coffee table, he also had ward blowing up his phone. “aye, man, i don’t think you should be driving.” topper slurred, downing the alcohol in his glass. cleaning the residue from his nose, rafe shook him off, stumbling through the crowd of people in the living room before hopping in his truck and peeling out of the packed street.

jaw ticking, rafe cursed to himself when his phone started ringing, ward’s contact lighting up the screen. “i’m going home already, alright? yes— yes, dad! i know we have a meeting with some investors in the morning.. what? no i’m not fuckin’ high!” he rambled on, feigning offense when his father called his bluff. “just stop— i know, okay? i’ll be there in a minute—” before rafe could finish his sentence, he took a sharp turn, swerving onto the curb before hitting a light pole.

you were locking up the icecream parlor when you heard the high pitched squeal of tires against the pavement, a loud crash making you jump from your spot in front of the door. spinning on your heels, your eyes widened when you saw a black truck just feet away from the main street, smoke billowing from under the hood. unsure of what to do, you looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but of course, the strip was always empty at this time of the night.

“son of a bitch!” you heard someone groan before they tumbled out of the front seat, falling face down against the concrete. you gasped, dropping your purse before running across the street. “are you okay?!” you helped the stranger sit up, wincing when you saw blood dripping from his nose. he stared at you wide eyed, his pupils blown as you kneeled in front of him. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” you reassured him, slipping off your cardigan before holding it against his nose. you noticed the open gash on his brow, your heart sinking when you saw his eyes soften. “we really need to get you to the emergency, do you have a phone?” rafe shook his head, leaning back against the tire of his truck. “no. well, yes, i have a phone.. somewhere.. but i can’t go to the emergency, not like this.” just then, rafe felt a sharp pain shoot up to his temple from his neck.

“yes, like this! you’re all scraped up.” you said incredulously. “no, i mean i’m not sober.” as if he was waiting for you to judge him, rafe watched as your expression didn’t falter. “i promise you, going to the emergency and getting help from a professional is a lot more better than not going at all. your truck can always be replaced; you can’t.” your words lit a fire in his chest, the sincerity in your tone making him crack a pained smile.

“i’ll go to jail for this, and i just can’t do that right now. i have to be somewhere in the morning, my dad will kill me if he finds out..” remembering that he was on the phone with ward before he crashed, he scrambled up to find the device, only to groan and plop back down on the street. still holding the pink cardigan to his head, you guided his hand to hold it for you. “what are you looking for? i can try to find it.” rafe let out a shaky breath, mumbling “my phone.” before you got up and spotted it near the tire.

turning it over, you held it up for him to see. it was completely shattered. “i don’t think it’s going to work..” you handed it to him, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “what the fuck?” he breathed out, holding his head in his hands. you’ve never seen someone look so defeated before, your feet moving on their own before you could think. “do you think you can walk? my place is only five minutes away.” rafe looked up like he couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“your place?” he repeated, half shocked and half confused as to why you’d offer him help. “yes,” you nodded, taking his hand in yours, “i don’t have a phone there, but i can at least get you cleaned up..” rafe tried to weigh out his options, only to realize he didn’t have any. “are you sure?” he was truly at your mercy. “yes. here— just keep holding this to your head, let me go get my purse and we can be on our way.” you left him with your cardigan, running across the street and grabbing your bag before getting him up.

“i’m a lot stronger than i thought.” you joked, attempting to lighten the mood as you wrapped one of rafe’s arms around your shoulders. “fuck, what about my truck?” rafe leaned his weight on you, nearly making you topple over before you took a step. “someone will find it and call a tow, you could call the towing company tomorrow,” you explained to him, “do you have anything valuable in there?” rafe laughed, shaking his head. “just my piece of shit phone that has no value now.” he grunted, walking with a slight limp.

“hey, uhm, what’s your name?” rafe looked down at you, both of you sharing a glance before he looked away. despite him not being in the right state of mind, there was no doubting how insanely pretty you were. “y/n.. and yours?” why on earth were you getting butterflies right now? “rafe.” was all he replied before he started asking you an abundant amount of questions. rafe learned a lot about you in the short five minute walk to your camper. what you did for a living, where you currently worked for some extra money, what your hobbies consisted of.. along with being a pogue.

“so.. you live all alone in this pink camper in the middle of the woods? aren’t you scared some psycho will come across it and want to know who’s inside?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “a psycho?” you flashed him a playful smile, “like you?” rafe watched as you unlocked the small screen door, a chuckle threatening to slip from his throat. “i would laugh if it didn’t feel like i had a thousand needles stabbing me in my brain right now.” he swallowed thickly, accepting the hand you offered him to step in.

he was immediately hit with the smell of freshly baked cake and vanilla frosting. he loved it. “i know it’s really small in here, but you could just take a seat right there on that little couch and i’ll go get my first aid kit.” rafe did as you said, eyes darting around your space. pink florals, white lace trim, usually he’d be irked by this kind of decor, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, he didn’t mind it this time. rafe leaned back on the soft sofa, settling into the cushions while you scrambled for the little first aid kit somewhere in your bathroom.

spotting the small box on your little shelf, you grabbed it before making your way back to where rafe was sitting. he opened his eyes momentarily, finding you even more pretty now that darkness didn’t surround you two. he kept his gaze on you, watching as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. “sorry about this..” rafe took the pink cardigan away from his head, the fabric now stained with blood. “oh, don’t worry about it,” you smiled, “you needed it more than i did.”

pressing a damp cloth to his nose, rafe groaned when you applied the slightest bit of pressure. “i’m sorry!” you pouted, taking a seat next to him. rafe reassured you he was alright, a groan leaving his lips as he clutched his stomach. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you lifted his shirt, your eyes widening at the sight. he was scraped and bruised, a small wound adorning his lower abdomen. “here, lets get this off.” you pulled rafe’s t-shirt over his head, both of your cheeks heating at the compromising position.

“we could stop if this is too weird for you—” you shook your head, taking an ice pack out of your freezer. “no, it’s okay.” you pressed the cold bag to his skin, still wiping away the dried blood on his face. “i’m not sure how far you live, but i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk anywhere.” your voice was barely above a whisper, the sound of it soothing rafe more than any kind of medicine he could take right now. “don’t worry about me, i’ll be fine.” rafe watched your fingers dance across his stomach, your nails sparkling underneath the dim lighting of your camper.

you thought for a moment. “i guess what i’m trying to say is; i think you’re better off staying the night here..” you trailed off, meeting his gaze, “you’ll be able to get to a phone in the morning and call whoever you need to. you should just get some rest right now.” rafe was stunned. you wanted him to stay? “i don’t know..” he sounded uneasy, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t help but feel like he was imposing. “it’s okay, i swear! you could take my bed since there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep on this little thing.”

“no, no way, i’m fine with sleeping on the floor.” you smiled at him, eyes flickering down to his lips. “no, really, it’s okay…?” you trailed off, unsure of what to call him since you didn’t know his name. “rafe.” he answered. “rafe,” he liked the way his name sounded rolling off of your tongue, “i’ve fallen asleep plenty of times over here, i’ll be fine on the couch.” you got up, wringing out the towel you were using to clean him up. “i just have one rule, though,” rafe held the ice pack to his stomach, humming as you grabbed some ointment and a couple of bandages.

“you can only lay in my bed if you’re clean.. and you need a shower.” the corner of rafe’s lips quirked. “if you want to see me naked all you have to do is ask.” you blinked, pushing his chest softly. “that’s not what i meant.” you giggled. “i’ll get you a change of clothes, just get in there for right now.” rafe was already too far in to look back. getting up with your assistance, you guided rafe to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him. “there’s clean towels and wash rags on the shelf!” you called from the kitchen, yawning as all of tonight’s events started to catch up with you.

rafe didn’t know what to make of all of this. one minute he was high out of his mind, crashing into a light pole with his dad on the phone, and the next he was inside some gorgeous girl’s camper getting tended to before using a strawberry scented body wash in her shower. what the fuck was his luck? taking his time in the shower, rafe thought about how he’d explain everything to ward tomorrow, from the towed truck to the cuts and bruises.

he wondered if ward would even care.

by the time rafe was done, he was stepping out of the bathroom smelling like a slice of strawberry cake with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. he glanced over at the couch, your back facing him as you slept soundlessly. moving aside the pink curtain that concealed the doorway to your room, rafe slipped into the sweatpants you left out for him, settling underneath your silky soft sheets shortly after.

how was it that you just happened to be the only person around when he crashed? how did he crash right in front of where you worked? and why were you being so nice to him? rafe had so many questions and couldn’t think of any logical answers. he didn’t believe in fate, but looking back on it, that seems to be the only explanation. the next day he woke up to his clothes freshly washed and wearable again, your music playing softly in the kitchen. “good morning!” you chirped, your hair and makeup already done for the day.

“hey..” rafe was still shirtless, his eyes following your every move. “what time is it?” he took a seat at the little booth by the wall, his head no longer pounding the way it did last night. “it’s about to be ten. i was debating if whether or not i should’ve woken you up earlier, but you really needed to sleep.” you leaned back against the counter, admiring the handsome man in your camper. “your wallet should also be with your clothes there on that chair,” you started, “..so i was thinking; the little store just right outside of these woods has a pay phone that you can use.”

rafe nodded. “yeah, that sounds good.” he couldn’t think of the last time he woke up without wanting the day to be over with already. “hey, listen— uhm, i owe you a huge one for everything you’ve done for me.. i apologize if it was an inconvenience in any way, but i really do appreciate you.” rafe got up, grabbing his wallet from your room. “here. please take it.” you looked down at the hundred dollar bills tucked between his fingers, shaking your head as you moved his hands away.

“absolutely not.” you laughed. “no, please, take it.” rafe got closer, opening one of your palms before closing it around the bills. “rafe, i don’t want it!” you backed away, “i’m serious.” rafe let out a sigh. he already knew how this would go, so instead of urging you to keep it, he placed the money on your dresser after he was done changing. “well i guess i’ll be leaving now.” you masked the disappointment on your face by offering him a smile. “yeah, i guess so..” without saying a word, you and rafe stared at each other before he wrapped his arms around you, the action giving you butterflies.

before you could say or do anything, he pulled away and left, leaving your camper feeling more emptier than usual. you walked over to the door where you watched him walk away until you couldn’t see him anymore, a pout on your lips as you did so. while you were sure that you would more than likely never see him again, you couldn’t be more wrong. that day was the first of approximately one hundred and twenty one days, and counting, that you two would spend together. rafe came back to you the next day with a brand new pink cardigan to replace the other one you so selflessly let him ruin.

one icecream date turned into several, which then progressed into him coming over to your place with an overnight bag, his very own toothbrush now taking a spot next to yours. which then led to him picking you up and dropping you off at work, and so on until he finally said that you were his. you two spent the entire summer underneath the trees, rolling around in the grass as you two gasped each other’s names into your mouths, sharing sweet kisses and an even sweeter love that continued to grow with no intentions of ever stopping.

rafe had gotten sober out of fear that he wouldn’t remember what a love like this felt like if he was high all the time, and without judgement, you were there with him every step of the way. you stayed by his side when he felt like all hope was lost, and for that he could never thank you enough. although ward wondered where rafe would go off to, he didn’t bring himself to care as long as he was doing what he needed to do for the family business. with his dad off of his back, and you to come ‘home’ to everyday, he could say that he was truly happy.

even now as you two sat in your favorite diner, sharing a milkshake and laughing at whatever the other was saying, you felt no worries when you and rafe were together, your heart threatening to burst at the seams everytime you looked at him. everything was perfect.. at least for now. all good things must come to an end, and when you two are threatened by none other than ward himself, the love bubble you two have been mindlessly floating in is suddenly popped.

taglist: @percysley @oceandriveab @archiveofvirtue @weirdowithnobeardo @mattyskies @ankoluvly @cnnamongrl @b3bybunny @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @lovinqbella @jeonmochi99-blog @corpsebridenightamare @whorelaud @mymvlody @idontknowwhyimhere33 @ursovaine

[twoflowers]

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees: Sanji x Reader

Read on AO3

Description: Sanji has been hard at work in the kitchen; you decide his stiff shoulders need a bit of attention. Predictably, Sanji is a mess. You didn't realize it would be quite this easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees. (SFW, suggestive)

Tags: Massage, nosebleeds (of course), light fdom, female reader, no use of Y/N, no description of reader, AND: (Sanji's constant need for validation of his cooking skills, Sanji's eternal need to be of use to the people around him, and Sanji's fantasy of being a fairytale knight kissing the hand of a beautiful queen he has pledged undying loyalty to. This man is a dork, people!)

Word count: 1276. Something short and sweet while I work on a longer fic based on a prompt by @mere-mortifer

Give this video a thumbs up if this man should actually get a massage in part 2!

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees

Sanji startles when you put a hand on his shoulder, not because he didn't sense you behind him (he could never fail to notice you entering a room, has been feeling pleasant, anticipatory prickling on his scalp and the back of his neck since you entered the kitchen), but because you've never touched him like this before. An occasional brush of arms, sure. A slightly more frequent brush of fingers, absolutely. He only seems to lose his grip on dishes when he's handing them to you, which is by complete coincidence. 

But your hand is firmly on his shoulder, fingers settling above his collarbone even when he turns to look at you.

“May I make anything for you?” He asks automatically. He carefully avoids looking at your hand in case you're touching him by accident - best not to remind you.

You smile fondly. “After tonight's dinner, I don't think I could eat anything else if I tried. It was excellent.”

Sanji can already feel his knees weakening. Excellent: now there's a good word, a perfect word, that he'll hold onto for later. 

“I'm so glad you think so. I thought of you especially while making it.”

“You say that to all the ladies.”

“It's true.”

Your hand is still on his shoulder. You tighten it a bit, perhaps appreciatively, perhaps condescendingly. He isn't sure which option he likes best.

“I brought my plates back down.” You gently set them in the sink with your other hand, and Sanji immediately picks up his sponge again. He doesn't know when he dropped it. 

“I'll get them done right away,” he stutters. “You're sure you don't want anything? A nightcap? Some tea? - I have a wonderful hibiscus from our last time on shore that would pair nicely with-”

“Sanji…” The quirk of your lip makes it certain: you are condescending him. A small shudder racks his shoulders.

“Mm?” His eyes flicker back and forth from you to the dishes. 

“You're working too hard,” you squeeze sharply at his shoulder, and he jumps at the pain. He's biting his lip when he finally makes eye contact, cheeks already starting to flush.

“See? Your muscles are so stiff.” You move behind Sanji, slipping your other hand up his back and to his opposite shoulder. You dig your thumbs into the muscles bracketing his spine, and he jerks forward toward the sink as if pulled by an invisible force. “Does that hurt?”

“You could never hurt me,” he breathes. 

“Oh?” You tighten your grip, thumbs poking deeply into his stiff back and stroking upwards to his neck. Hard, firm pressure. 

Sanji’s hands reach out to grip the edge of the sink. The sponge falls forgotten into soapy water. His knuckles are white, arms trembling. “Nothing… you do to me could ever hurt me.” His voice is wavering in a delicious way. “Even if it’s painful.”

You hum thoughtfully, dipping one of your thumbs under the collar of his shirt. Skin swipes against skin, and Sanji lets out a whine. 

“We can’t have our cook in anything less than peak condition, can we?” You mumble, still thumbing his soft skin. 

Sanji lets out something halfway between a gasp of pleasure and a laugh of disbelief, hands clenching still tighter.

“We need you healthy,” your hands move down his back, resting just under his shoulder blades. “I need your cooking.”

Somehow, that’s what breaks him. He arches forward with a groan, shoulders shaking.

“Let me help you relax,” you offer. “How about a massage?”

One of Sanji’s hands shoots from the sink to under his nose. He audibly swallows; blood dribbles down his fingers as he pulls his hand away. He nods weakly.

“What was that?” You can’t help but prod, not when he’s this vulnerable. Sometimes you feel like Sanji is a big bruise that you can’t help but poke at.

He nods again. Your hands instantly find his waist, thumbs stroking circles through his suit jacket.

“Use your words.”

“Please. Anything.”

“Such good manners,” you coo. You slip your hands away from Sanji, savoring the way his body freezes in anticipation. You take a lace handkerchief from the counter and gently cup his chin, turning his face towards you.

He looks so small, curling forward like he can’t trust his knees to hold him upright. His face is an impressive shade of red, almost as dark as the blood dripping over his plush, bitten lips. His eyes, surprisingly, aren’t as gleaming and heart-shaped as they usually are around you. 

You can’t help but grin at having finally caught him so off-guard. His eyes become wide, almost frantic, as you swipe a thumb over his chin. There you are. Finally, finally, I’ve reached underneath.

You hold his face more firmly and bring the towel up to clean him, but he flinches. Not away from you- you have a feeling he couldn’t move away if he tried.

“I don’t want to stain it,” he all but begs. “It was… I was planning on using it for plating your evening tea.”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” It’s blatant, obvious teasing, but Sanji’s eyes droop miserably nonetheless. 

“Here we go…” You wipe the handkerchief under his nose. Blood saturates lace, and Sanji’s eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

When you’re done, you pull away and fold the cloth carefully. Sanji watches in equal parts confusion, misery, and awe. When you tuck it into your pocket, Sanji gasps, another trickle of blood falling onto his lips.

“I just finished cleaning you up,” you scold. 

Sanji’s lip quivers from the humiliation, but you quickly lean forward and place your lips under his nose. It’s barely a kiss. You pull away shortly after, tongue darting out to taste his still-warm blood. 

Sanji drops to his knees so hard you hear bone hit wood. His shaking hands grasp one of yours, pulling it to his lips: no contact, just puffs of hot, frantic breath. One knee up, and he’d look like a soldier being knighted by his queen. 

“May I?” He’s trembling. He almost looks like he’s salivating. Your hand is small in his, but his are so much softer, skin scrubbed down from washing dishes, still red-tinged from the sink’s hot water.

You nod, and he gasps into the first kiss. His lips linger on the back of your hand, wet and bloody. You flip it over, and he moans, kissing your palm and trailing up your inner arm. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching for the faintest hint of displeasure. 

“Sanji?”

He immediately pulls away, breathing hard, still tentatively holding your hand. 

“Yes?” He looks ready for any command. Blood is smeared across his face and up your arm. You didn’t realize it would be quite so easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees, but you should have expected as much.

“The goal was to make you more comfortable. You look like you’re hurting your knees.”

Sanji shakes his head with enough ferocity that his bangs are knocked out of place, almost covering his other eye. “I could never complain about being allowed this.” 

He looks at your arm with some panic, then begins to wipe the blood away with his own shirtsleeve. 

“Sanji. Stand up.”

He obeys immediately.

“We are going to go to my quarters,” you say. 

He nods along dumbly. 

“And you are going to lie on my bed.”

His face flushes a brilliant red.

“And I’m going to give you an incredible massage.”

He swallows, swaying forward on his feet. You take the cue to grab him by his tie and lead him down the hallway, dishes long forgotten.

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been 4 years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all�� the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from your boyfriend’s skin. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

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The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[yezzns]

— Making out w/ Soobin - drabble

pairings: soobin x afab!reader

genre: smut but nothing too detailed.

warnings: mdni! mention of making out (duh), big dick sb, kinda sub Soobin¿ I think that’s all

wc: 360 words

a/n: please remember English is not my first language and I can’t fully express what I’m thinking and there’s probably a lot of incoherences and mistakes too, bare w me 🙏🏻

Check out my masterlist.

It started as something innocent, really.

The way he stared at you with his bunny-like features melted your heart; you just wanted to get a better look at your boyfriend's pretty face— by straddling his lap, obviously.

Soobin didn't refuse when you leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours, and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, his nose, and his cheek, and started to trail a path down his jawline and neck. As you started nibbling on the sensitive skin, effectively earning a low hum from him, his hands reached down to grip the swell of your ass.

You took it as your cue to start grinding down against him, scoffing at how hard he'd gotten from just a few pecks. You didn't tease him any further, though; he was so big you could easily mistake him for being turned on at any time.

The pathetic whimper he let out at the friction stirred something inside you, lifting your head to crash your lips against his in an embarrassingly desperate way. As welcoming as always, your sweet boyfriend parted his lips for you on instinct, letting you slide your tongue inside to explore his mouth as you pleased.

You pushed him even further against the cushions of the worn-out couch in his room, your knees sinking into the material on his sides. He wouldn’t let you pull away to catch your breath, every time you tried, he was quick to chase after your lips and pull you back into another kiss.

His hips started bucking up against you in an unmeasured way, but his rock-hard bulge kept rubbing against your clit just right even with all the clothes on, making your panties uncomfortably stick to your core.

A new rush of desire washed over you when his big hands roamed over your body, squeezing, gripping and touching every patch of skin they could reach and tugging at your clothes. When he finally pulled away from your lips— a string of saliva connecting you, his eyes were heavy and dark when they found yours- and in that moment, you knew you were in for a long night.

[toxycodone]

hnghh.. taking daisukes anal virginity

your fucking mind. I’m a firm believer in “heteroflexible” Daisuke (he says this but he’s most definitely a bisexual man, just in denial. Also he’s not cis but he’s not ready for this discussion either lol.)

reader can be male or have a strap. it’s up to ur imagination

“Isn’t this a little…gay?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

You slide your thumb over Daisuke’s hole, admiring the way his thighs and midriff shudder from the action. A breathy sigh leaves his lips as his brows furrow.

“You ever played with it?” You ask, tilting your head in interest. Daisuke practically jumps out of his skin at the question. His already warm cheeks flush a bright mauve.

“N-no, I—“

“Be honest.”

A simple press of your thumb against him has the truth tumbling out of his mouth.

“A few times, just—ah, a little…” The tip of your thumb starts to sink inside, earning you a sweet moan from his lips. “I just, I never—“

Your own length stands in attention, perched against space where his thigh meets his pelvis. Each second your finger dives deeper within, Daisuke’s thigh twitches, and he’s sighing out your name.

“Fuck—,” His teeth dig into his lower lip. “That feels good.”

“Right?” Your fingers slides out easy. The copious amount of lube proves useful. A few more strokes and his hole is already giving way, allowing you to slip another finger inside.

Daisuke eagerly lets you continue. You can tell by his sounds, the way his cock twitches, that he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. When you’re finally confident that he can accommodate your size, you pull out, eager to get this show on the road.

“Why’d you stop?”

Daisuke’s question is answered when he sees you line yourself up with his entrance. You spot a little shock in deep brown eyes, but they mostly glimmer with anticipation.

“Because I’m about to make you feel so much better.” he’s never had anal done on him and. I think when he realizes how good it feels he kinda becomes a whore for it tbh (god I have no many hcs)

[midnightwritingsessions]

Yours and only yours

Summary: While on a date with Louis you run into your ex and Louis doesn’t like the way he’s looking at you. [1.4k]

Masterlist

Requested

-

The evening had been perfect so far. The two of you were seated at your favorite cozy Italian restaurant, tucked into a corner booth that offered just enough privacy. The low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glasses filled the air, but all Louis could hear was your laugh as you teased him about his persistent refusal to try pineapple on pizza. “It’s unnatural, love” he said with a mock grimace, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza. End of discussion”. You rolled your eyes playfully, resting your chin on your hand as you gazed at him. “You’re so stubborn. One day, I’ll win this argument”. He smirked, leaning closer. “Not a chance, but I do love your optimism”.

The waiter brought over your plates, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as you enjoyed your meal. Everything felt easy, warm, and just… right. That is, until someone approached your table. “Y/N?” You froze mid-laugh, your smile faltering slightly as you turned to see the voice’s owner. Standing there was someone Louis instantly recognized from the stories you’d told. Your ex, Jake.

“Jake” you said, your voice a little tighter than usual. You offered a polite smile, clearly caught off guard. “Hi. It’s been a while”. Jake returned the smile, his eyes lighting up in a way that immediately set Louis’s nerves on edge. “Yeah, it has. You look incredible, by the way. I almost didn’t recognize you”. Louis stiffened in his seat, his jaw tightening as he instinctively moved his hand to rest on your knee under the table. His thumb stroked over your leg in a steady rhythm, his presence grounding, but his posture had gone from relaxed to visibly on guard. “Thanks” you replied politely, a little thrown by his sudden enthusiasm. “Uh, this is Louis, by the way. My boyfriend”.

Jake barely glanced at Louis, his focus entirely on you. “Boyfriend, huh? Lucky guy”He grinned, his eyes lingering on you a little too long. “You always did have great taste, Y/N”. Louis’s hand tightened slightly on your leg, the shift so subtle you almost didn’t notice. “Cheers for that” Louis said coolly, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. Jake seemed unfazed, leaning a little closer to you. “So, how’ve you been? Still into photography? I always remember you had such an eye for it”. You smiled politely, not entirely catching the way Jake’s tone dripped with something more than friendly interest. “I still dabble here and there, yeah. What about you? How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, you know, just working, traveling. Nothing too exciting. Though running into you might be the highlight of my year” Jake said, his grin widening. Louis’s blue eyes darkened, and his hand stopped its soft motion on your knee, gripping it firmly instead. You glanced at him briefly, only to find his jaw set and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner” Jake said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, his gaze fixed firmly on you. “But maybe we could catch up sometime. You know, for old times’ sake” he threw a wink at you which twisted your stomach.

Your brow furrowed slightly, the implication behind his words finally starting to sink in. “I don’t think that’d be appropriate, Jake” you said, your tone firmer now. You glanced at Louis, whose icy stare was locked on Jake, daring him to say another word. Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still playing on his lips. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d ask, test my luck invade he was treating you right. Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N. And… Louis, was it? Nice meeting you.”

Louis didn’t respond, his jaw clenched so tight you were surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. Jake lingered for a moment longer before finally walking away, leaving behind a palpable tension that settled over the table like a storm cloud. “Louis” you said softly, watching as he picked at the edge of his napkin, his usual playful energy replaced with a brooding silence. “Talk to me”.“There’s nothing to talk about” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the table. “Louis” you tried again, reaching for his hand. He pulled away gently, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “So that’s Jake, huh?”. “Yes” you said, your voice even. “But it’s not what you’re thinking at all” the thought alone nearly made you shiver.

His blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “Not what I’m thinking? He was practically undressing you with his eyes, Y/N. And you didn’t even seem to notice”. You blinked, taken aback. “I didn’t- Louis, I wasn’t trying to encourage him. I was just being polite”.

“Polite” Louis repeated, his tone tight. “Love, he wasn’t just saying hello. He was flirting with you. Right in front of me”. Your stomach sank as his words hit you, the pieces finally clicking into place. “I didn’t realise” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I wasn’t paying attention to him like that. I was too busy thinking about you”.

Louis’s expression softened slightly, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “I know you weren’t. It’s not you I’m upset with. It’s him. The way he looked at you, like he still had a chance…” He trailed off, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It just got under my skin”. You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “Louis, you’re the one I’m here with. You’re the one I love. Jake doesn’t matter”. He hesitated, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, love. I just… I hate the thought of anyone thinking they could take you away from me”. “No one can, especially not him” you said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Jake is my past. You’re my present and my future. There’s no competition”.

By the time you got home, Louis’s mood had improved slightly, but the unease still lingered. He went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter with a sigh. “Alright” you said, stepping into the kitchen and crossing your arms. “Let’s get this out in the open”. Louis glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You don’t let anything go, do you,”. “Not when it comes to you” you replied, moving closer. “Talk to me, Louis. I don’t want this hanging over us”. He set the glass down and ran a hand through his hair, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. “It’s just… you’re everything to me, Y/N. And sometimes I look at you and think, ‘What did I do to deserve her?’ And then some idiot like Jake comes along, acting like he’s got a chance, and it just… it messes with my head”.

Your heart ached at his words, and you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Louis, listen to me. You don’t have to feel that way. I’m with you because I want to be, because I love you. Jake can flirt all he wants- it doesn’t change the way I feel about you”. He looked down at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. “You mean that?”. “Every word” you said, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if letting go wasn’t an option. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small smile playing at his lips.

“I’m sorry” he murmured. “For letting him get to me. I know I shouldn’t have”. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel” you said softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “But next time, talk to me about it, okay? We’re a team”. He nodded, his smile growing a little more confident. “Alright. No more sulking. I promise”. You laughed, leaning into him. “Good, because I don’t think I could handle another moody Louis Tomlinson dinner date”.

“Oi” he said with a mock scowl, tickling your sides until you squealed. As the laughter faded, Louis pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, love” he said softly. “For always knowing what to say”. You smiled against his chest, your heart full. “That’s what I’m here for”. And in that moment, you knew there was no one else you’d rather navigate life’s ups and downs with than him.

[potchi-fics]

attention

i | ii | iii |

 an engineer is what you are in piltover. your life mostly consists of work, work, sleep, more work, and helping people when you have free time, so just more work– it’s all you’ve known for whole your life. 

so tell me why you’re in Zaun, hiding under your cloak, gripping your dagger tightly in your small but calloused hands. you do not belong here , you think to yourself. you feel uneasy, anxious, fidgety, tense, on edge; hell, all the synonyms for those words. the thought of zaunites being violent has been engraved in your brain, all the years you’ve been in topside are to be blamed. thuds of your boots meeting the wet ground reach your ears and you cant help but feel their stares, glares , on your figure so you do the next thing that pops up in your mind: enter the bar .

you heave out a sigh at the sight of the bar, drunkards sleeping on the counter. you turn your head and you see a group of people playing cards. you turn your head one more time to see some shady stuff happening in the corner so you choose to ignore it and make yourself seated on a stool– a couple of chairs away from a snoring drunk. 

“what’ll you have?” a rough voice interrupted you from taking a longer look around.

       your gaze falls onto the bartender, catching a glimpse of his name tag: markus. opting for a light drink, you ordered a beer. finally settling down, you feel your muscles relax, convincing yourself that you’re safe.

a clink from the glass cup brings your attention back to markus, still a bit jumpy. “first time?”

“what?” your voice is thick with surprise, unintentionally exposing yourself. 

“not a speck of dirt on you,” he starts, “not even a speck of dust on you. what are you doing here, topsider?” 

       markus’ eyes doesnt judge you, the use of his nickname topsider does not hold any judgment. your shoulders slump down slightly as relief washes over you because, for some reason, you just know that he wont rat you out to the public.

beer almost escaping the cup seeing you quickly bring it up to your lips, “to be honest with you, i dont even know, man. i guess i just got curious?”

he snorts, busying himself with cleaning other cups, “curiosity will get you killed, lady.” 

       you talk for a few minutes before getting interrupted by a sudden yelling. you dont bother to look around– given the sounds of punching, groaning, and more punching, you figure to mind your own business. instinctively, your hand reaches for your dagger just in time when a drunkard sluggishly approaches you.

slurred words, a stinky smell fills your aroma which makes you wince, “what’re you doin’ here all ‘lone, pretty?”

you try to ignore him.

“hey,” he puts his hand on your shoulder, “im talking to you, bitch.”

       blink and they’d miss how you swat his filthy hand away from you just to stab it into the counter. screams of agony filled the already noisy bar but you could only glare at the man– your eyes soulless and dead. 

he grabs your wrist holding the dagger with his other hand. “you bitch,” he manages to snarl out. 

“yeah? sorry,” you finish him off by slamming his head on the side of the counter, “didnt hear you.” you spat out.

       effectively knocking him out, you angrily take back your dagger, making eye contact with the scared bartender. his eyes widening signaled you that someone was behind you, ready to strike. mentally thanking him, you took a step to the side, barely escaping an angry fist. men are such babies. seeing an opening for a strike to his head, you took it– mustering all the strength in your body to punch him. he stumbles back a bit while holding his head before charging at you– however, you were much quicker: you threw your remaining beer at his face, distracting and blinding him for a moment. but a moment is all you need; you stab his side, lifting his head by pushing his jaw upwards, you pull out your knife before sinking your lovely knife into his shoulder. he didnt get a chance to scream since you grabbed his head with both of your hands and forcibly slamming his face down on the stool.

“fuck,” you pant out, adrenaline pumping in your veins now. “fucking stupid ass fucking bitches gettin’ on my fucking damn nerve. what is wrong with you drunkards.”

      with a crouch, you snatched your dagger from the man’s shoulder, wiping it on his clothes in the process of cleaning it. once more, you look at markus– taking notice of the eerily quiet bar, shit , the curse echoed in your mind.

you bring your finger up to your lips to signal him to be quiet. one last look at the man on the floor, you throw change into the bloody counter and leave the bar as fast as possible. you turn to alleyways to alleyways to run away from a bar because you know that you made a scene, and the last thing that you want is attention.

what you dont know is a cloaked figure, smoke coming out of her cigarette is already watching your every move. you dont know that you’ve caught the eyes of a one-armed army, her mechanical arm softly humming as its gears and fans do their jobs.

       you dont know you’ve caught the attention of sevika.

[emjayewrites]

wash day • aurelien tchouameni

SYNOPSIS: Aurelien washes his girlfriend's hair for the first time.

PAIRINGS: Aurelien Tchoameni x black!fem reader

WARNINGS: boyfriend!aurelien, fluff

TAGLIST: @f1-football-fiend, @sucredreamer, @whoevenisthiz, @deonn-jaelle, @lettersofgold, @trenterprise, @irishmanwhore, @pepfectionary, @alika-4466, @shelovesfootie

"Alright, we're live," she announced, adjusting her phone while lying back on their kitchen counter, neck positioned over the sink. "Y'all about to see if my man can handle this 4C life."

Aurélien arranged his products methodically: Melanin Haircare shampoo, Pattern conditioner, and a wide-tooth detangling comb. His own phone propped against the coffee maker, Knicks game loading.

"I got this, babe."

The comments started flooding: @/sinflower_11: omg he's really doing her hair in the KITCHEN @/meenyminy: that sink setup actually genius tho @/phillyest_1234: mans got the good products too 👀 @/herschel_west: NOT WHILE WATCHING BASKETBALL

Aurélien tested the water temperature before letting it run through her hair, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they worked in the shampoo. His attention split between proper sectioning and Jalen Brunson's three-pointer attempts.

"YES!" he shouted at a particularly good play, accidentally tugging a knot.

"Ow!" she yelped, water splashing.

"Désolé, mon cœur," he immediately bent to kiss her temple. "Got excited."

The comments exploded: Jude Bellingham: mate you're gonna be sleeping on the couch 😂 Eduardo Camavinga: this man really watching basketball while doing hair. Ibrahima Konaté: my guy is WHIPPED whipped

She read Ibou's comment aloud, making Aurélien kiss his teeth. "Tell this man to mind his business."

But his hands stayed gentle as he worked through each section, methodically detangling while stealing glances at the game. The Pattern conditioner made her hair silky under his fingers.

"Look at him being all focused," she narrated for the live. "Who taught you about these products?"

"You think I don't pay attention?" He carefully worked through a knot.

More comments rolled in: @/minaroe: he really got the technique down @/everyone_luvslulu: HUSBAND MATERIAL @/thelivest: that neck position looks mad comfortable actually

The Knicks scored again, but this time Aurélien contained his excitement, fingers never faltering as they worked through her hair.

"See?" he smirked. "I can multitask."

"We'll see how the final result looks," she teased, but her content smile said everything.

Aurélien did a final rinse, and her hair turned out squeaky clean and thoroughly detangled. He helped her sit up, wrapping her hair in a microfiber towel with practiced ease.

"And now for the blowout," she announced as she went to sit on a dining room chair.

He reached for their heat protectant products, displaying each bottle to the camera with exaggerated showmanship since the Knicks were at halftime. "We got the good stuff."

Her laugh rang out. "Look at him, acting like a beauty guru."

Comments flooded: @/haircare101: he knows his products! @/knicksfan: bro using halftime to do hair

Aurélien sectioned her hair carefully, wielding the blow dryer with surprising competence as she guided him through the process.

@/naturalhair: Can her silk press it too?

"Nah," she laughed. "We're not there yet, but—"

Her words cut off as Aurélien appeared with professional hair scissors. The comments exploded:

@/protectivestyles: GIRL THE TRUST @/hairgoals: pls dont let him cut too much @/blackgirlmagic: prayers up yall Eduardo Camavinga: now he's just showing off Jude Bellingham: mate's really out here being a whole stylist

Aurélien's bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration as he carefully trimmed her split ends, his movements precise and measured.

"Look at this masterpiece," she said afterward, turning her head to show all angles. Her hair fell in a sleek, healthy curtain, ends perfectly trimmed.

As Aurélien cleaned up in the background, she chatted with viewers about products and techniques. The live ended with him wrapping his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her freshly done hair.

The Knicks won. But his victory was in her satisfied smile and the hundreds of comments declaring him boyfriend of the year.

[crazyfanoffandom]

Sometimes I think a little about post game activity. Rook and Lucanis spent so long running, and fighting both of those elvhen dweebs but now they can breath a little.

I picture quiet and still when they finally are settled for sleep. They’re in Rooks room. Rook is lying on the couch listening to the stillness of the eve. It’s both calming and unnerving. She’s listening to the creaks of the lighthouse. She watches the fish scuttling around in their fish tank. Though she should find herself drifting from a heaviness for sleep, she’s wide awake. Sleep hasn’t found her yet. So she’s enjoying this moment. She’s lapping it up as much as she can. She wouldn’t allow herself to think to much to the future. Because he will have to go to his first talon duties (or whatever he can do with Caterina still barking orders). She has no idea what’ll happen to her. Maybe she’ll have to go back to her own crow duties …maybe saving the world will lead her to go other places.

Lucanis is passed out. His arms are wound tightly around her waist. His head is rested on her chest. His chest is slowly rising and falling. Unlike her, he has fallen asleep. With no sleepwalking incidents. She’d touch his hair a little. It provides her with more proof he didn’t die. And that she didn’t either. Her heart would swell when she looks at him. And she’d smile a little.

At some point, he’d stir and awake a little. His word would be difficult to understand because he’s groggy. But he’d shift himself best as he can do his head is now on her shoulder and he’s rewrap his arms around her shoulders and go back to sleep. Rook (forgot to mention her name, Freya…though I will be changing that at some point) will play with his hair a little more. Now it’s her turn to hold him tightly.

Her mind would keep wandering to what happened, and all the people she lost. She’d probably miss Davrin and Assan. She’d picture times past when she played with Assan, or accompanied Davrin to see the griffins. She’d remember his deep voice and the way he laughed. And she’s remember how he’d become such a dear friend. Grief would begin to sink in a little. And as she started feeling her eyelids shut. She’d feel a single test fall from her eyes. Eventually, she’d fall asleep. Some are gone, but she’s also thankful for the ones who aren’t. Including her and the man she’s fallen in love with.

[starfxkrinc]

https://www.tumblr.com/starfxkrinc/766887946707206144/remember-the-fic-of-jj-clicker-training-you-and

discord mod JJ and Kitty PLEASE 🙏🥲

ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩

first it was the collar, wrapped tight around your neck so jj could hear you prowling around the house. but he decided he liked it, there was something satisfying about everyones reactions when he showed the server. watching the videos of you bent over the couch with the little bell jingling, all congratulating him for finally 'leashing that pussy'.

still, jj wanted to push you further. to see how far he could make your mind sink into its more base instincts.

once jj got the clicker it was easy. a click, then a kiss. a click, then a 'good girl', a click, then you could cum. before long the sound of the clicker had your eyes fluttering shut with your heart thudding and your lips pouted for a kiss. so when he started punctuating with commands you were following his instructions without much if a second thought. it felt good to have this much power, you were always his favorite toy but this was different.

"down." the soft click made you whimper, pressing your face against the floor but apparently it wasn't enough, because jj was now stepping on you, being sure to push between your shoulder blades so your back would arch, "all the way, good girl."

another click. by now you were shaking and so wet it was dripping a puddle onto the floor.

"you're perfect y'know that?" jj abandons his foot on your back, unbeknownst to you a smile tugs at his lips at the sight of his dirty foot print on you, "everybody thinks you're a bitch, they don't know you like i do."

with a soft kick he hits you right on your sticky cunt, causing a sharp whine to exist your lips, "fuck that hurts."

he scoffs, "thought i told you good kittens don't talk." he kicks you again, harder this time so you fall forward, body prone as he steps on your pussy, smeared with dirt and arousal as you try to squirm away.

"stay still."

click. you stop, and he lets off, sinking to his knees and keeping them locked by your hips.

"you ain't so bad, not with me anyways." jj slips into you, nice and slow while he keeps you pinned with his body weight, "you know who you belong to."

he's so close, his body fitting perfectly with yours as he covers you completely. when he brings his two fingers to circle your lips you're drooling already, anticipating that soft sharp sound.

"open." click.

you do as he says, eyes fluttering shut as the familiar taste of his fingers spread across your tongue. it's nothing for you to close your lips around him, sucking softly as he starts to fuck into you, dropping his hips hard and fast like he's feeding you his dick. when he gets you like this it's like you're stuffed with how he notches against your cervix like he's trying to gut you.

jj's teeth graze the back of your neck and you tense, even as he tries to placate you with harsh sucks and kisses you know he can't stay too nice for long, because he clamps his teeth on the back of your neck, jaw locked like a pitbull as if he's trying to rip your spine out, "ffuckfuckfuck."

shaking, you try your best to fuck back against him, but he's too strong, too heavy. able to keep you pinned and open with the force of his hips driving his cock out of your squelching hole. forcing your neck back so he can kiss and lick the tears off your cheeks. you're so overstimulated you're dizzy--babbling and crying as you try not to cum.

you can't yet. he didn't press the button.

"almost, almost, just...fuck." he lets you go, pressing your head to the ground with one hand and keeping the other splayed against your lower back with the other, fucking into you so hard it hurts. your stomachs churning like you're going to be sick but you can't move.

"just fucking take it. fuckin bitch, just take it." you can barely hear him over your sobs, your whole body throbs like a bruise from how he's hurting you, but your clits pulsing from it all. when he cums you could scream, because you're so sure he's just gonna leave you there twitching and throbbing for his dick, his fingers, something.

but he doesn't. thank god he doesn't because he hauls your hips up to his mouth, delving deep to lick the cum and pusddy juice from your hole but you still hold back.

until you here it.

click

the tremble starts from your toes and crawls its way up your spine like a livewire. your mouth drops open but you can't let out more than a soft wheeze as you cum, soaking his mouth and chin to the point he's gasping. when your done he drops you, haphazardly sticking a pillow under your hips once he's flipped you over, resting his head on your trembling stomach.

"hey, you good?" jj waves his fingers in front of your face, doing his best to pull you from your haze but you're too deep, not even replying with words, just flicking your tongue out in an attempt to get them in your mouth. luckily he obliges, letting you suck on his thumb as you try to ground yourself.

if just a clicker got you like this, what could a shock collar do.

[daisymbin]

hi sweets 💓 this is my second req because your drabbles are seriously incredible. you're capable of eliciting so many different emotions in such a short space, it really speaks to your talent! can i please request suggestive #8 with jun x fem reader but she's the one saying it?

omg thank you for your compliment & kind words :(( yes, you definitely can!!!!

a/n: UGH i can't stop thinking about this...been thinking about this since I wrote it in the morning n idk why 😫

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jun's m.list

suggestive prompt #8: you don't have to pretend to be innocent with me."

jun’s lips brush yours with a teasing gentleness that sends a jolt of anticipation through you. his hands are warm where they rest on your waist, but they aren’t doing anything. not pulling, not gripping, just... there. again.

you shift under him, deepening the kiss, trying to coax more out of him. his breath hitches, and for a second, you think he’s about to let go. but then he pulls back, looking down at you with that soft, careful expression that’s been driving you insane for weeks.

“jun,” you say, voice sharper than you intended, “what are you doing?”

his brow furrows, lips parting slightly. “what do you mean?”

“you’re holding back. again. i can feel it.” you sit up, forcing him to sit back too, his hands slipping from your waist. “you’re always so careful with me, like... like you’re afraid you’ll break me or something. why won’t you just do something?”

he stares at you, stunned silent.

you narrow your eyes, annoyed at his lack of response. “if there’s something wrong, just tell me. because it feels like you don’t want me.”

his head snaps up at that, panic flashing in his eyes. “that’s not true,” he says quickly, his voice low and firm. “it’s not that.”

“then what?” you demand, leaning closer, refusing to let him dodge the question.

he hesitates, his eyes flicking away from yours, his jaw tightening.

reaching out, you trace your fingers along the line of his jaw. his breath stutters, and you catch the way his hands clench into fists at his sides. “you don’t have to be so careful. i’m not glass, jun. i’m not going to break.”

his gaze snaps back to yours, wide and unguarded, and you can see the conflict in his expression.

“i—” he starts, then stops, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

you raise an eyebrow, leaning even closer until your lips are almost brushing his. “you don’t have to pretend to be innocent with me either,”

before you can get another word in, his hands are already finding your hips, his grip firmer this time. “you really don’t know what you’re asking for, baby,” he mutters, but there’s a flicker of heat in his eyes now, a spark that makes your pulse race. finally.

“don’t i?” you challenge with a smirk on your race, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer.

his control snaps.

jun kisses you hard, his hands tightening on your hips as he presses you back against the couch. his lips are demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue slides against yours in a way that leaves you breathless.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low, frustrated sound that sends a thrill through you. his mouth moves to your jaw, then your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there before soothing it with his tongue.

“this what you wanted?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, his breath hot.

“mm,” you hum, your nails dragging lightly down his back. “finally.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hair messy, his lips red and swollen. “you want me like this, dont you?” he asks, his voice low and almost accusing, "all needy, careless & rough." he adds, but there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes now, one that makes your stomach flip.

“maybe,” you reply, grinning as you pull him back down for another kiss.

he groans, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch no longer hesitant, no longer soft, no longer holding back. when he pulls away this time, his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“you drive me crazy,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words more like a promise than a complaint.

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” you say, tugging him back down again.

this time, he doesn’t hesitate.

[ihaznoclue]

Hello I was just wondering if you can do a angst to fluff post with my baby Tamaki Amajiki. Like the reader (female) is having continuous nightmares about her past and never seemed to have a good night sleep so Tamaki as her boyfriend/soulmate helps the reader is any way possible to get her a good night sleep. Thank you! :)

Pairings -> Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Warnings -> Nightmares?

Note -> Reader having nightmares so Tamaki is there to help to get the reader a good night sleep

Genre -> Angst to Fluff

Tamaki Amajiki

This is getting ridiculous, it had seemed you had the same nightmare over and over again and you're just sick of it to be honest.

A repeating cycle of nightmares about how your parents died in a fire that was caused by the LOV. You hated those villains with a fiery passion but right now you needed to figure out how you were gonna go back to sleep.

You were laying on your back as you started at the ceiling of your dorm room, you were a year three, which was surprising to you as you didn't think you were gonna come this far but here you are.

Your arm was resting on your sweaty forehead as you calmed down from your mental breakdown for the fifth time in a row this week...

You sighed as you sat up, you throat was a bit dry so you decided to go to the main lounge to get a drink of water from the tap, you stood right up from your comfy bed as you walked slowly to your door and opened it quietly trying not to make sound so you didn't get in trouble for going out of your dorm room.

You now closed the door as quietly walked to the elevator to take it down, you couldn't be bothered to take the stairs since you were literally half-asleep.

What if you fell and face planted on the floor and make a lot of sound to wake everyone up. Nope not on my watch.

You waited until the elevator went down and open the doors, you walked out and came straight to the sink. You opened a cabinet and got a glass cup and poured some water in the glass and then took a sip of it

Thank God. You were finally free from the dry throat that was bothering you as soon as you woke up.

You then took a couple more sips until it was empty and put the glass cup back in the sink to do it in the morning, because you didn't want to make such sound of glass and metal sink clinging to each other.

You sighed as you didn't want to go back to your dorm alone, even though your dorm room was a comfort area for you with a lot of stuff that comforted you in a type of way.

So you turned around to walk back...

"Name?"

"JESUS FUCK-!" You yelled but then the stranger covered your mouth quickly, you looked up a little to only see Tamaki

"Shh.. You need to be quiet love" You nodded as your mouth was un-covered by his hand, you were a bit scared but as you soon realised it was Tamaki, you loosened the tense in your body

"Tama? What are you doing up?" You asked, Tamaki perked at this then replied

"Oh well, I wanted to go to your dorm but then you weren't there so I figured you were out here.." He wanted to find you? This dork

You gave out an airy chuckle as you shook your head a bit "You know you can't come to my dorm you know, I don't want you to get in trouble you dork"

"Uh- Well I mean I just wanted to check up on you you know, you seemed to be tired this whole week and I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I did text you at first but then you didn't reply back as you usually do so I went to your room and didn't find you" Tamaki explained

You totally forgot to bring your phone that you left on your bed side table beside you bed, you groaned as you face palmed yourself

"I totally forgot to bring my phone, I'm so sorry Tama" You worried looked up at him, you might of gave him a fright though

"It's okay love, no need to be sorry about that. We should head on back then" Tamaki requested as you follow him down the hall to the elevator

The doors opened and went inside, you forgot how there were lights in the elevator but luckily you could see Tamaki's face instead of seeing him in the dark

"Um.. Love? Have you been crying?" Tamaki asked, you gave a confused face so he pointed to your cheeks where you had dried up tear stains from your breakdown earlier before you went down

"Oh.. Um it's fine.. I just had a little crying session earlier no biggie" You back the topic down but Tamaki was worried if something happened to you so he came closer

"Uhh- Tama.. Hun? What are you doing-?" You were then interrupted by him rubbing your cheeks that seemed to get rid of the tear stains, then he seriously looked at you

"You had another nightmare didn't you?" Tamaki asked then his eyebrow furrowed in worry, you couldn't bear to look at him in the eyes now

You didn't tell Tamaki about your nightmares that seemed to keep you awake most of the time but he didn't think it was going on forever he thought it was just one night

"Love.. Look at me"

God you loved that nickname, you always seemed to melt at it, you then seemed to melt into his hand that was staying on your cheek as you started to cry again

"Y-Yes I did.." Your voice cracked as you answered, look at him with sad eyes, he instantly pulled you in for a hug, a tight one to let you know you were safe and cared for

He petted your head to calm you down a bit which worked, the elevator doors opened as he took your hand in his as he guarded you to his dorm room

"Wait.. Tama, we will get in trouble If-"

"I don't care.." Tamaki replied

You never saw this side of Tamaki until now, he was more confident to speak as you gave him a reason to be confident but right now he was being confident for you and you only

You didn't say anything after that as he opened his door as led you in, his room was basic but looked comfy, his bed was big for the both of you

"Lay on my bed, I'll turn off the lights when you are on the bed then I'll come over" Tamaki spoke

You walked over to the bed and climbed on it as you crawled to the front and tucked yourself in, his bed was comfy and smelled good.

The lights turned off as you felt tense again as you felt alone until you felt hands wrapping around you as you heard shifting on the bed. Tamaki was tucking himself in now as he placed your head near his chest to hear his heartbeat

His strong arms were wrapped around to make you feel safe and secured

"Try to go to sleep, you really need it, I'll be here to help you if you have the same nightmare again. Now sleep" He said as he kissed your forehead

His heartbeat....

His soft breathing....

His warmth....

This feeling felt nice..

It felt good..

You felt peaceful

and it was all because of

HIM <3

-A<3

[bullet-prooflove]

Baggage: Mike Franks x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @saturnsdevilz

Ties into GIbb's Ice Queen storyline:

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted - Mike reflects on the aftermath of Violet's death.

Mike doesn’t realise he’s saying another woman’s name in his sleep, not until he wakes up to an empty bed at fuck knows what time on a Saturday morning. Things have been going well between the two of you since he put his cards on the table, you’ve been staying over, keeping stuff at his place. He thinks you’d move in if he asked you to and he’s been thinking about it, he just needs to bury this case first.

Once that’s over he can start looking to the future, one that starts with mornings going down on you and nights wrapped up in you.  

He finds you in the kitchen, hunched over the sink scrubbing the shit out of last night’s skillet. He leans in the doorway, appreciating you for a minute, drinking you in. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, it barely covers your ass. Your hair is pulled up into a messy bun revealing that hickey he left on the back of your neck because he’d gotten a little carried away when he was fucking you from behind against the headboard. His gaze comes to rest back on that skillet, the ferocity of your cleaning and he knows that somewhere between making love to you last night and waking up this morning he's fucked up bad.

“What did I do?” He asks you, fiddling with the buttons of his open shirt.

You pause then, dropping the skillet back into the sink before you incline your head towards him. He can see the profile of your face in the light from the kitchen window and it almost takes his breath away. He has moments like this sometimes, ones where he gets a fierce rush of emotion when he sees you. He’s forgotten how intense it can be, falling in love again, the power you give the other person when you give them a part of yourself. Mike, he would walk through fire for you if you asked him to but you never will because love is about trust, about knowing the other person has your best interests at heart even when you lose sight of your own.

“Who is Violet?” You ask and the bottom just falls out of his entire world. “You’ve been saying her name in your sleep so she must be someone important.”

 “That’s a complicated answer.” He says finally because Mike he doesn’t like to go back to that place, not if he can help it.

“Oh.” You say, picking up a cloth to dry your hands as you turn to face him. There’s a hurt in your features, an anguish he feels deep down in the depths of this bones. “Well if it’s complicated, then let me uncomplicate it for you.”

You toss the cloth at him before you head towards the bedroom. He knows what you’re doing, you’re going to pack up your stuff, leave and part of him thinks he should let you because his baggage, it’s too fucking heavy to share with anyone else.

But then he remembers Maeve’s words from the night she patched him up back then and he realises maybe it's time to start talking about this shit.

“She died.” He says as you throw your holdall onto the bed. “Violet was my fiancée and she died.”

You freeze then and Mike waits for the words to filter through, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck as you slowly sit down on the bed.

“It was a while back...” He tells you, tilting his head away because it’s easier to tell this story if he doesn’t have to look at you. “She was…”

He can’t quite find the words to describe Violet.

Vivacious, bubbly, the life and soul of the party.

None of them seem enough.

“I loved her, I loved who I was when I was with her.”

He’d been brighter back then, less cynical. The world, it hadn’t seemed like such a dark place. He comes to sit beside you on the bed, his palms rubbing over each other as he continues his story.

“One night she went for a run, didn’t come home. I was working a shift, didn’t realise until the military police turned up looking for me.” He looks up then, his eyes meeting yours. “He hadn’t just killed her, he brutalised her too. He took something from her that even if she had lived, she would never have been able to get back.”

He sees your understanding. As a female detective in the SDPD, cases that involve sex crimes usually get delegated to you. The consensus is it’s a woman crime therefore the women are better equipped to handle it. The illusion is the victim is the only one destroyed by the crime, but rape, it has a ripple effect, it invades everyone connected to that person, it changes them.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.” You say into the silence, your hand clasping his. Your touch, it’s a lifeline in that moment, it gives him the strength to push on, to divulge the rest of the sordid story.

“It broke me.” He reveals, his voice raw with emotion. “I was a mess for long time after that, drinking, fighting, I just had to much fucking rage and I had nowhere to focus it.”

“They didn’t catch the guy?”

“No.” Mike says as he rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. “But the probie decided to go digging through the file recently and it’s generated some leads, I think we’re close, real fucking close.”

You squeeze his hand gently.

“That’s what the life lessons are about aren’t they?” You say softly. “You’re trying to make sure if anything happens…”

You trail off then and Mike nods his agreement.

“Leigh.” He says, his calloused hands encompassing your face, cradling it between them. “You are the most important thing in this world to me. When we started, it was like something inside just sparked and the part of me that had died, it came back to life. I could laugh again, breath again and that’s because of you, because of the way that you loved me.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, his thumbs stroking tenderly over your cheeks.

“If something happened to you I wouldn’t survive.” He murmurs against your mouth. “If I lost you like that…”

He’d follow you right into the grave, he can guarantee it.

“You won’t.” You promise him, your lips brushing over his. “With everything you’ve taught me, you’ve made sure of that.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[missredherring]

I've Got You Babe

Moodboard made by @iamasaddie.

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Rating: T

Summary: There's no beer in the fridge.

Contents: Fluff. Silly goose behavior.

A/N: This is for @iamasaddie 24hr writing challenge. The flow of time is an illusion, Jen. Can you tell I wrote this after work?

There's no beer in the fridge.

He's been standing in front of the open door, but no matter how many times he blinks the contents don't change: the lunches you'd made for them on Sunday and a case of sparkling water.

So there's no dinner or beer.

He could go to the bar and kill two birds with one stone: dinner and a drink without any effort on his part beside getting his wallet out. The fridge starts to hum and his eyes land on the neatly stacked food containers again.

It's not just him anymore. Maybe he'd gotten too used to taking the easy way out in the time he'd been by himself between Sarah moving out and you moving in.

Joel sighs, closes the door, and shuffles off to find you.

You're washing your face in the bathroom and whatever he opened his mouth to say follows the water right down the drain. The way you're bent over the sink makes your ass that much bigger and his tired eyes can't look away until you turn to grab a towel hanging from the bar.

You raise your eyebrows at him when you see him leaning against the doorjamb.

"There's nothing for dinner-" he starts to say and regrets it when you freeze. The wheels are almost visible as they turn your brain around and around.

"Shit. I'm sorry- I was focused on lunch and didn't-" you start to say but he quickly straightens up and holds his hands out towards you to hijack that train of thought.

"It ain't a problem, sweetheart, you did good on that- trust me. D'you wanna go out to dinner tonight and then we can swing by the grocery store on the way home?"

"Yea. Let's do that," you look down at yourself and pluck at the wrinkled t-shirt. "I just need to change into something else and then we can go."

He thinks you look just as good in yoga pants and a t-shirt as you do in everything else, but Joel knows when to pick his battles and follows you into the bedroom to change himself. His collection of un-stained clothing has been growing since he started dating you, and now is as good a time as any to wear them.

Dressed in a green polo shirt and a newer pair of jeans, he waits for you to finish slipping on shoes before ushering you to the truck. With the way you smooth the fabric down he wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches the hem of your dress brush along the back of your dimpled thighs.

The keys are in the ignition and he grips them to turn and start the ignition when a thought occurs to him. He'd had to buy building materials earlier for his current job so he was lower on funds than he'd expected. Joel sits back and rubs at spot of dirt on the steering wheel. He turns his head towards you, looking at the soft curve of your jaw, unable to meet your eyes when he asks if you can cover dinner and groceries tonight.

You pause, doing some mental math of your own, and give him a smile. "I've got it, baby. Did Greg not bring everything you needed for the job again? I don't know why you still work with him if he keeps messing up like this."

Joel scoffs and starts the truck, choosing not to linger on how the relief spreads through him at your easy acceptance. "This is the last time. I've given him enough chances."

The sunlight is concentrated into the golden hue just before it starts to set and it bathes the cab of the truck. At a stoplight he glances over to see the way you squint against the light and when you finally turn your head the few grey strands of hair he can make out at this distance shimmer with the movement.

"Does that make me your Sugar Mommy? Since I'm paying for everything so you don't have to worry your pretty little head?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," he says honestly and then goes on, curious now, "'That something you want? To be my Mommy?"

The laugh lines around your mouth deepen and twist as you cringe. "No- wait, say it again?"

"Mommy?"

"Yea, no, not for me. Nope."

"You sure? Maybe you just need to get used to it, Mommy. Mama?"

He's got you laughing and he sways easily when you push at his arm to stop him.

"What about you, Daddy?" You tease him in a sultry tone, but all he can hear is every time Sarah called him that before she grew up and started calling him "Dad" instead.

"No. That ain't bedroom talk for me."

"See?"

"I was a daddy; you don't have kids."

"Yes, and that has been a deliberate choice."

He grunts when you shove him again and then turns his attention back to the road when the light changes.

"Thank you," you say as the mirth settles in the cab.

"For suggesting dinner and then making you pay?" He jokes and is happy to find he doesn't feel bad about it.

When you reach over to take his hand Joel just switches his grip on the wheel to his left hand and locks your fingers together, resting them in your warm lap.

"More and more I understand why my mom acted as if doing anything after work was a huge issue. Most days all I'm focusing on is getting home and out of my bra." Yea, me too is on the tip of his tongue, but the tone of your voice stops him. He squeezes your hand in encouragement. "So thank you for reminding me that it's fun to go out and do things after work."

"You're welcome, honey," he says, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth for a kiss. "And if you ever want help getting out of your bra, I'm always happy to help with that too."

[cultlix]

𝐡𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬

pair. mob heir! felix x fem reader | genre. toxic relationship, smut, angst | warnings. semi-public sex, penetrative/unprotected sex, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol and organized crime.

synopsis. You raise your head, locking eyes with your executioner. There's still something this hideous place has not taken away from him. His love for you. A love he watched grow in his ribcage like trailing ivy, suffocating his resistance, that he treasured in secret, sacred and fatal, the one that makes you sink obliviously in between bedsheets filled with torment and bliss.

author's note. this one was a wild ride! not because i easily run out of ideas or just lose interest in what i write, but because my kitten kept on running away from home and it was impossible for me to stay focused on this story. but then i spent so many sleepless nights waiting for him to return and praying he was safe that, somehow, the only decision i could make to preserve my sanity was completing it, at any cost. hope this contribution does justice to one of the most appreciated trope in ff world (mafia is such a classic, right?) and that you guys may find it entertaining. thanks in advance for the time you'll decide to invest in reading this work.

➽──────────────❥

You can't enter The Hydra without losing a part of yourself.

It's not superstition, but a tacit agreement, a compromise of sorts. Once you slink into that private club, that dreadful abyss of vices and transgressions, tiptoeing on the fringes of morality, the only way out is giving something back, a sacrifice.

At their negotiating table, every mind becomes sinister, each soul easily corruptible. The Hydra takes, deprives, drains inexorably, then comes back, demanding, expecting more, a mythological beast driven by an endless hunger of tributes and rewards.

You never know how low you can go, how lost you can get, till you get in there. The hecatomb never ends, the monstrous creature grows and never placates, lavishes and purloins in equal measure, in a vicious circle, fed by people's avidity and weaknesses.

Going back is not an option, is a chimera. But this baleful eventuality doesn't scrape your obstinacy even for a second when you decide to cross that goddamn threshold.

When you finally meet his eyes, his devastating beauty is transfigured by dismay. He's disoriented, livid.

"What are you trying to prove, uh?"

Felix grabs your wrist firmly to guide you into the darkest corner of the dancefloor, attempting to shield you from indiscreet and lecherous gazes with his slender figure. He can almost feel the other men's labored breaths as they scrutinize you, each defined line of your profile, each smooth curve of your flesh and how they harmoniously combine into that surreal vision, making them slavering, making them wonder how gratifying it would be to empty themselves in that secret, narrow paradise you preserve between your legs.

Felix abohrs it, but he detests even more he's not that different from them. A ravenous wolf, lurking, agonizing till he catches the majestic fawn.

"Nice to see you too," you start off, trying to free yourself from his iron grip.

"I said I didn't want anything to do with you ever again," he bursts out exacerbated, but his voice, an octave higher than usual, shakes, calling into question the trustworthiness of his harsh words.

"I said I didn't believe you."

There's not a mere trace of hesitancy in your tone, no signs of fear on your delicate features. Just like the first time, when he took you at his place and told you the walls of his attic were so thick that he could have done anything he wanted with you, that no one would have ever heard you screaming. "I think you should worry more about making me first," you answered, loosing the knot of his tie.

He takes you to a hidden corridor and opens the door of an unlit, pushing you inside.

"Get undressed, now," he orders, slamming the door behind his back, taking off his leather jacket and throwing it on a security camera.

"I..."

He shushes you immediately with the index on his mouth, then pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and starts typing.

They can hear us.

He jumps on a table and removes cautiously a laminate panel from the ceiling, taking out a small-sized jammer. Then unfastens his belt, making sure the buckle clinks noisily.

"Nice sweetheart, like this, lay on on the table, oppa wants to fuck you raw from behind, he needs to drill that tight, pretty hole of yours real bad. Will you let him? Will you help oppa feeling better tonight?"

You can easily tell his words sounds affected, unnatural. They come out in a deluge, potent and evocative, yet plainly strategic, shallow. A well-written script acted masterfully for a mysterious audience. But behind the accurate sham, that diabolic mouth of his can still make sound those sordid trifles persuasive, alluring, emphasizing the unrest you perceive within yourself without his touch.

He nods, suggesting you to fake a verbal consent.

"Yes," you murmur a bit puzzled, but audibly.

He eventually turns on the device. "We don't have much time left. That fucking paranoid of Kim Seungmin will probably come soon to check why mics have stopped working—"

"Mics?"

"Yeah, mics, you can use to them to convert sound waves into electrical signals you can record, you know," Felix exclaims with a sarcastic tone.

"Record? Is that even legal?"

"Is that even relevant?"

He pours you a flûte of champagne, but you decline. He drinks it avidly, collapsing on the leather couch. "They're watching us constantly, they put our allegiance to the test and keep everybody under strict control."

"Felix, are you trying to tell I've just entered the Death Star and you're enslaved to the Empire?" you chuckle incredulous.

He laughs, wholeheartedly. "No, Y/N. I'm just telling you I'm the commander of the Death Star and the heir of the entire fucking Empire."

A subtle smugness slowly takes possess of his elegant lineaments as he placidly lets you drown in a bottomless ocean of veiled truths and dark revelations. He barely hides his amusement while he waits for a reaction, for a demonstration of what you'd be willing to risk, to endure only to stand by his side.

You try to listen with aloofness to his stories, to each one of his shocking confessions adorned with vibrant shades of blood and violence, to his tales about supremacy and honor.

Is it still you, Felix? you think, heart brutally clasped in the firm grip of desolation, Are you still the one I fell in love with?

"Mr. Hwang now only needs to designate his successor, me or his biological son. Then, The Hydra, every shady affair concluded between its walls and all the shit coming with it, will be my own fucking business."

Felix drinks and strides nervously in a room too small to contain his anger, his bitterness. He stops and turns to look at you, motionless, composed, betrayed only by a single tear falling from your eye to your quivering lower lip. A pearl of rare pureness in that hideout of evil. He knows you're disgusted, but still, despite his shame and the abomination towards himself, he needs to exhort you to believe he doesn't worth this agony.

"What's wrong, angel? Ain't what you always wanted? Am I not the knight in shiny armor you've always dreamed of?" he provokes you, pouting, coming closer, catching that solitary tear with his thumb, then tasting it, mischievously.

You raise your head, locking eyes with your executioner. There's still something this hideous place has not taken away from him. His love for you. A love he watched grow in his ribcage like trailing ivy, suffocating his resistance, that he treasured in secret, sacred and fatal, the one that makes you sink obliviously in between bedsheets filled with torment and bliss.

"Fuck knights in shiny armor. They're so overstimated."

You push him against the door and kiss him.

Your tongue finds him unprepared, but submissive, rage runs through your veins faster then heroin, a poisonous aphrodisiac, a fire in liquid form turning doubts and trepidations into a heavy rainfall of ashes.

As he steals your breath with every swirl of his skillfull wet muscle, he grabs your hips, forcing you to move and making you hit the wall with your back. He breaks the kiss, taking your hand and guiding it on his still coated bulge.

"You like this, right? You want to see me crawling, begging. It must be so sublime for you watching me while I try to resist you and miserably fail each fucking time."

"How can you be so full of shit?" You protest, sighing, lost in the rapture of feeling his body responding instantly to your presence.

He loosen his grip but you continue to palm him, now feverishly, making him groan, close his eyes, press his forehead against yours as he tries to find support with both arms on the flat surface in front of him.

"I swear I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N, that you'll still feel me inside you even when I won't be there anymore."

"Please."

He pulls your panties down to your ankles and frees his throbbing lenght, then lifts all your weight by grabbing your buttocks, helping you to wrap your legs around his waist. Felix penetrates you rapidly, frenziedly, doesn't even wait for your walls to enfold around his hardness that he starts thrusting into you with an untiring impetus, making you bounce on his cock heavily. His movements are swift but precise, hard, intense, targeted to make this stolen moment culminate in a violent blaze.

He moans, curses as he swims deeply in your warmth, praising the way only you can take him so relentlessly when he needs it, though he knows it hurts, confesses how he could never escape this, the two of you, even if he wanted to, and makes promises, million vows with the weight of a zephyr because it's his lust speaking, cruel and consuming, and you won't trust them till he won't reemerge from this state of fleeting elation.

You let him come inside, his pearlescent seed obliterating the last crumbs of your lucidity, inundating what's left of your broken soul. Your orgams follows with arythmic contractions, a devastating force that makes you almost stifle, calling his name in feeble pants.

Felix covers your mouth, delicately. "I know, angel," he whispers, exhausted, totally uprooted from his surroundings, caressing your lips with his thumb, kissing them one last time before going back to his abode of doom. The world, his world behind that door, hasn't stopped turning, carries on its waltz of nefarious alliances and murderous games, blessed with cupidity and ignorance.

Once outside that place, immersed into the nocturnal symphony of calmness, the hammering music in the club's nothing more then a white noise and the silence lulls your senses. Felix sends a message on his phone, then adjusts your coat over your shoulders.

"You know I can't save you."

"I've never asked you to. But we can always start from something easier, a call, maybe? You think you can do that?"

"I'll try" he says, smiling. A black car stops in front of you.

"Stay away from trouble," Felix recommends, kissing your forehead.

You gently push him away, leaving him upset.

"Step back, then."

He smirks, watching you get in the car, waiting for you to disappear behind the misty drapes of the night and into the most remote corner of his dreams.

"Now I totally get why he's so obsessed with you," the driver says, an irritating tone, cool shades and long black hair.

"Pardon?"

He starts the car before you can even reflect on the prelude of that strange conversation, then stops at the first red traffic light and turns around. He's stunning in a disturbing way, eyes piercing, mad, making him look handsome, yet rotten.

"Hwang Hyunjin," he says, waiting for a cordial handshake, but you stand still, freezed and paralyzed after hearing that name. Felix's last request still resounds in your head and you already know you won't be able to keep your word.

"Welcome to the family, uhm...angel? That's how he calls you, right?"

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.